Endless Dreams, Sleep and Love
I have a gazillion blogs written in my drafts folder again. *sigh* I never used to do that…I would type and post without even thinking (lol, you’re welcome, by the way!) but now it’s always so carefully measured and thought through. A lot of my most recent posts have been about M and the relationship we tortured each other with and although I very much doubt he’d ever take the time to read any of this, I don’t want to hurt him. I mean, how stupid is that? He made such a habit of slashing at me with the lowest, most hurtful things he could think of and I don’t want to hurt him. It’s true though. I almost never retaliate when people do that sort of thing to me…I just quietly lick my wounds and curl up in the corner for a while then, let it move through me….through and out and gone. I’m not a grudge holder either, obviously.
Then there are the endless complaints about work and the stress I’m under here. It’s helpful to get it out of my system but I realize it’s just the same thing over and over it becomes less helpful. I just need to find a resolution to the problem, not complain about it…I know quite well what’s wrong. Anyway…the PTSD aspect of it that sends me tripping off to the land of self-torture and blame is what needs my attention so rather than worry over how they are treating me, I’m just trying to worry over not worrying. ha. Wish me luck on that one.
The dreams have been exhausting and the sleep has been plentiful in the last weeks. Coming back to work after a week off at Christmas wiped me right out and the huge amount of work and adversarial BS I had to wade through made it even more exhausting. The sleep doubled in strength and so did the dreams, as you might expect. I’ve had a theme running for about a week and a half now and it’s distressing but also kind of fascinating. I wake up afraid but captivated in the moment. I’ll do a quick rundown of the one I had this morning just before waking to give you guys an idea.
I was living in a rural town inside an older home with a couple and two younger siblings. The town was abandoned and overgrown with weeds and wild flowers although there were still intact pastures around that contained livestock like sweet, docile sheep and horses with pot bellies from grazing all day with little to no exercise. The houses all looked like they were closed up; peeling boards over some windows, a great deal of glass broken and scattered in shards around the outside perimeter of the unkempt gardens below. There were some vehicles around, but very few, and we were living in hiding from something or someone. There were no kids in this part of town at all and we were absolutely never allowed to venture outside of the home, as kids were taken on sight (or killed, either way it was a terrible fate so we were never tempted). Needless to say that whenever anyone came by or there was a noise outside, I would gather up the children and we would hide until the older couple told us it was safe to come out again. I had hiding places all over the house, and they were needed because there were sweeps done on a seemingly regular basis where ‘guards’ (soldiers?) would come in and check for anyone in all the obvious hiding places. They could come in with their guns drawn, masks obscuring their faces, and would look in attics and basements, under and behind furniture; anywhere a child might fit and be out of view. I took to hiding in the walls by peeling back sections of paneling so I could squeeze myself in the space between the wooden studs or would climb into the attic and then peel back a layer of fiberglass insulation to make a little space for myself and slide in, covering myself again with the itchy pink material. There was also a save sunk into a concrete recession in the floor under the floor boards. If we folded ourselves into a very tight ball, all three of us could fit, but it was sometimes a bad idea because the little boy hated confined spaces and would start to panic the moment the vault door was pressed closed against our backs.
One day, I was sitting in the living room looking out the window at the sheep in the field next to my house when I saw a truck coming down the hill. It had a huge movie camera mounted on the side of the passenger door and I knew what they were looking for; Changes. Anything different. They would survey the neighborhoods once a week or so, looking for anything that was out of place or different from the week before. If a new vehicle showed up, they would come investigate and we would have to hide for the entire day, not knowing when they might turn up. I ran and hid under the front porch – there was a space beneath it that I could access from the access pit that was a basement. I had wiggled a few of the stone bricks that formed the underground foundation for the porch loose and made a space just big enough for me to squeeze through. The inside of the concrete porch was hollow and I curled up into a ball inside of it. I could clearly hear what was going on outside and soon after I was safely tucked away, a heavy set of boots clomped onto the porch just inches above me. Someone knocked on the door forcefully and I heard one of the couple’s footfalls as they approached and opened the door.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to inform you that there have been reports of children in your home. They have been seen by our security patrol peering out your windows and we were dispatched to investigate. Upon our arrival, two young children were seen playing in the field just over here.” He pointed to the sheep pasture I had been looking out upon moments before his arrival.
My heart stopped with a thud in my chest. I remembered suddenly that my siblings were not with me and that I didn’t know if they had found a hiding spot.
There was a crashing above as the team of guards/soldiers began to tear up the house, looking for the children that weren’t allowed to exist here. They pulled furniture to the floor, smashing candle holders and other knick-knacks; pulled up carpeting and, from the sound of it, took the attic door right off the hinges in one careless yank.
They were in the attic. Oh god…they were in the attic. I could hear them whimper as the hatch gave way and the little one began to scream. The older one tried to muffle his cries but it was already too late…they had been found. An awful explosion of screaming and panic filled the house and I was quite glad for the slight buffer I had inadvertently provided myself by hiding inside the concrete porch. I heard the little ones trying to get away from the guards; grabbing onto door frames as they passed trying to cling to the safety of the house. The couple who took care of us wept openly but didn’t do anything to try to stop them. They knew it would only end in their deaths along with the children. The sounds of their little voices screaming finally passed over top of me and began to echo in the vast, empty outside air and then were cut in decibel as they were tossed inside the vehicle with the camera mounted to its side. I could still hear them faintly as they were driven away from us and wept, curling myself into a tighter ball. I decided not to move. I was going to sleep there for a day….stay in my shell and just focus on breathing until my heart stopped racing and the waves of guilt subsided. The people upstairs knew where I was so they wouldn’t worry and I just couldn’t think of doing anything else.
I woke up from this dream wedged in the corner of my bed up against the corner of the wall. I had disturbed Dayne’s sleep at some point in the early morning as he was curled around me, both of us taking up less than one quarter of the bed. The cats were in their glory, lying on their back spread-eagled and all snuggled into our blankets, none of which were covering us. When I woke from the dream, Dayne woke too and he kissed my hair and whispered into the back of my neck that I could pretend he was cave to hide in; to let him be a wall behind me to keep me safe while I slept. He had put pillows all around my head so I felt hidden and safe when I woke…he later told me I’d been sobbing and panicking in my sleep the entire night. He said the only thing that seems to help me these day is for him to use his body as a shield. He lets me shove my hands and feet under his body and will hold me without smothering me but allowing me to shove myself into the shape of his body and anchor my limbs….It’s the reason I so often sleep on the couch in the living room – I need that feeling of being hidden and safe while I sleep. That would be courtesy of my father’s late night visits when I was a little girl, I suspect.
Anyway – those dreams keep coming. Same sort of idea with me hiding and trying not to be seen or caught; people I love dying or being killed because I wasn’t paying enough attention; feeling exposed and unsafe in the world and constantly running from the things that are hunting me. I’m so lucky to have this man in my world.
I don’t often dream of people I actually know in real life but Dayne and Colt are the two exceptions. M used to make regular appearances but after the crap he put me through most of the dreams associated with him involved being held captive by a horrible demon who flayed the flesh from my bones and brutalized me every chance he got. The only regulars are the group of people who follow me pretty much everywhere I go in dreams. They try to shield me and protect me too, often with their bodies. When I’m in the scariest of situations they will gather around me and form a human wall like elephants do in the wild when a family member is injured or vulnerable. They lock arms and press their bodies against me and I feel like I can let go of everything and just float there, surrounded and safe. That’s exactly what it felt like this morning with Dayne too….surrounded, protected and safe. I could feel his heart beat on my back, he was so close and the rhythm soothed me like I was hearing waves washing up on the shore in lovely, constant motion.
Why did I ever want anything but this? What other man would be so understanding? He asks for so little from me and needs almost nothing, but stays by my side whether I’m awake or asleep and holds me when I am frightened by the things that bounce around my head. It gives me such strength…he doesn’t realize how much.
Okay, well, that was a trip, reliving that for a moment through words. I’m so tired I’m dozing off already and it’s only 10:30, I’ve taken all my meds and I’m still dropping off into the void. This sluggish about to slip into sleep/go under anesthetic feeling is becoming frustrating. There seems to be so little that helps it….I can’t understand why double the dose of stimulants I’m prescribed, along with upping my caffeine intake is making me feel even more tired than I did before. Must be in my head….but it’s certainly not keeping me particularly alert. I can barely see my screen…
*sigh* Back to office madness. Thanks for reading guys. x